4 Defending a Ford
Will Allen was at the edge of the crater when he heard a swishing among the bushes, and then the sound of horses’ feet. Will was naturally of a joyous, impulsive nature, taking most things lightly, but in these dark days of Texas he had learned caution. Perhaps the Mexicans were about to stumble upon Camp Independence. He darted into the thickest of the bush, where he kneeled down and peered in the direction of the sound.
The footsteps came on swiftly and decisively, as if the people who rode knew their way and feared nothing. Will rose a little higher, and the first horseman came into view. He was a man of gigantic stature, with enormous chest and shoulders, and with a great head and face all so covered with thick, black, curling hair that only the eyes were visible. He carried two rifles, a large keg and a heap of metal bars, bound together rudely with withes. Just behind him rode a tall, strong boy, who carried baggage, similar in kind, but less in quantity, and then came others.
Will stood up. Here were the Panther and Ned and all his friends, back safe and sound, evidently bringing with them some kind of spoil. He shouted joyously and ran forward.
“You have succeeded!” he cried.
“What do you think we went for if not to succeed?” replied the Panther gravely. “We had to do a lot of roarin’, an’ rippin’ an’ t’arin’ an’ chawin’, but we come back a lot richer than we was when we went away.”
“The riches of the Mexicans took unto themselves the wings of the morning and flew into our hands,” said Obed White. “We have here, young sir, powder and lead, which are the very cream of the market in Texas at this time.”
They dismounted, led their horses down into the crater, unloaded their spoils, and all rejoiced together. The powder and lead were stored in the strongest and dryest of the cabins, and they decided to begin the making of bullets at once. All of them had bullet moulds, without which they never went to war, and they built a small but very hot fire in an angle of the cliff. The lead was melted in one of their camp skillets, and, taking turns in fours, they moulded bullets until it was dark.
They resumed the task the next morning, and never ceased until the last pound of lead was turned into bullets, making many thousands in all. The Panther contemplated the shining heaps with great satisfaction.
“With all these bullets an’ with all the powder that we’ve got, we’re four or five times as strong as we was sev’ral days ago,” he said. “But we ain’t strong enough yet. We’ve got to make another haul soon, an’ then we’ve got to get men. We want to pick up the stray Texan fighters here an’ there, an’ bring ’em to Camp Independence.”
“In order that we may be the skull at the Mexican feast,” said Obed White.
“I don’t know much about feastin’ with skulls settin’ by, lookin’ at you,” said the Panther, “but if you mean makin’ ourselves a thorn in the Mexican side an’ twistin’ it ’roun’ an’ ’roun’, that’s it.”
“It comes to the same thing,” said Obed White.
The men were never idle. Two more deer were shot in the woods, and the meat was jerked. They continued to find the wild turkeys numerous, but they did not shoot many, as they did not wish to alarm the birds and drive them from their haunts. But they caught many fine fish in the big creek. The time not spent in fishing and hunting they devoted to improving their camp. With their hatchets they hollowed out a deep alcove in the side of the hill, lined it with bark, and put their powder in it, where it would be safe from a wetting by a storm of unusual violence, and where there would be no risk of explosion from a stroke of lightning.
They also strengthened and improved their houses, and added two new ones. As they expected recruits, they intended to be ready for them when they came. The crater assumed the friendly aspect of home, although they built no fire of any size, except at night, lest the smoke rising above the trees might be seen by a prowling enemy. But within the entire circle there was every evidence of rude plenty. The horses taken now and then under guard to the little meadows on the hills were sleek and fat. The flesh of deer, wild turkey and other game hung drying from the saplings. Skins also were being tanned, and there were others besides those of deer.
A big panther, driven by hunger, entered the crater late one night and sprang upon one of the horses. Deaf Smith, drawn by the terrified neigh, arrived in time to shoot the panther before he could do any damage to the horse. His skin, a fine one, was added to their collection. The wolves had been a great annoyance, coming to the edge of the crater every night and howling out their anger and grief. Smith and five others, including Ned and Will, stole out of the opposite side of the camp on a moonlight night, approached against the wind, and killed eight of the wolves before the rest could get away.
“Wolf skins are worth having,” said Deaf Smith, as they reloaded their rifles, “so we’ll just take these.”
They secured eight good skins, and returned to the crater. They found the next morning that the survivors had slunk back and had picked clean the bones of their comrades, but they did not come any more to the edge of the crater and howl in the darkness.
“O, muse, sing no more the wrath of the master wolf,” said Obed White, “for his soul is dead and gone down to Hades, and his flesh has served to feed his own comrades, likewise the flesh of seven of his brethren.”
Then Ned made a proposition.
“Panther,” he said, “don’t you remember those horses we saw when we were on the expedition after the powder and lead? They are good horses. They had owners once, but none now. Suppose we go and get them.”
“I’ve been thinkin’ of it,” said the Panther. “They ain’t had time to run wild yet, an’ you an’ me an’ Deaf an’ Hank will go for them. We may make a good haul.”
They mounted their best four horses, took lariats and rode away, reaching the edge of the forest at night and camping there until day. They entered the open prairie the next morning and took the general direction in which they had gone before. Unless alarmed by men or wild animals, it was not likely that the horses would wander from the rich pastures in which they had been seen.
“Buffaloes roam far from north to south and from south to north,” said the Panther, “but I don’t think wild horses do, an’ I know tame ones won’t. So we ought to sight ’em within ten miles from where we saw ’em before.”
The Panther was a good prophet or reasoner. They found the herd on the banks of a small creek, grazing in a little meadow, and then undertook the delicate task of approach. The four had great experience with horses, and they drew near very slowly, whistling and making all the other equine signs of amity. Perhaps the horses had been scared by panthers, and looked with welcome upon their old friend and employer, man, but at any rate they allowed the four to come among them, and recapture eight of the choicest.
“Waal, who’d ’a’ thought it?” said the Panther, fairly exuding triumph. “I guess these horses ain’t so much in love with runnin’ wild as you’d think they was, or mebbe they think it’s better to be captured by Texans than by Mexicans, as one or the other would happen sooner or later.”
They kept their new horses in the edge of the timber a day and night, feeding them, watering them, reaccustoming them to the hand of man, and also permitting them to grow friendly with the horses which they already had. Then, cutting their lariats in order that each of them might lead two horses, Ned, the Panther, Smith and Karnes took their way back to Camp Independence, where their arrival created a great stir, and where the new horses soon grew used again to human ownership and became contented members of the herd.
Smith, Karnes and the Panther exchanged notes over their second achievement directly after their return.
“It keeps on workin’,” said the Panther, “whenever we take that boy with us we do what we want to do.”
“It hasn’t failed yet,” said Smith.
“’Twould be temptin’ Providence to start on anything without him,” said Karnes. “Havin’ had so much proof, we’d be mighty big fools to go ag’inst all the signs.”
“You was never more right in your life,” said the Panther.
Several days later, Ned, Will, the Panther, Obed and two others went on a hunting expedition in the deep woods. As the country in the direction they wished to pursue was so broken and so dense with forest and underbrush, they walked, the Panther generally leading the way.
“It’s a good thing,” said Will Allen, “to have an elephant walking before you when you start through the jungle. He breaks such a nice path that the walking is easy.”
“Who’s an elephant?” said the Panther. “Is anybody hintin’ at me? The next time you call me an elephant, Will, I’ll curl my trunk aroun’ you, an’ throw you up into the top of one of them trees where you’ll stick.”
As a matter of fact, the Panther was as fine a woodsman as plainsman. His huge form seemed fairly to flit forward, making no sound as it slid among the bushes. The others watched him and studied his craft, wishing to be as nearly as possible his equal in this essential accomplishment.
The luck did not prove good. All the big game, warned by the fate of some of their comrades, apparently had fled away. There was no turkey in the tree, nor deer nor bear in the bush. But they persevered.
“All things come to him who hunts long enough for them,” said Obed White cheerfully.
“An’ havin’ hunted so long without findin’ anythin’,” said the Panther, “we’ve come to the edge of the woods. Look through them leaves there, an’ you can see the green prairie.”
“Suppose we try our fortunes on the prairie,” said Ned. “The grass is so good that we might find a herd of antelope close by or even run across another buffalo that has wandered too far east.”
“The idee ain’t bad,” said the Panther, “an’ we’ll take a look anyway.”
They emerged from the forest and came out upon the prairie which stretched away, lush, green and wavy as far as the eye could reach. The sky as usual at that period was heavy with clouds, but the gray tint which did not dazzle was more of an aid to Ned’s keen eyesight than brilliant sunlight would have been.
They traveled some distance through the grass which often rose almost as high as their waists, and after nearly two hours saw a herd of antelope feeding at a distance of about a mile. Here was tender food, and they resolved to secure it. The Panther had a huge red bandana handkerchief, which Obed, after creeping near enough, was to wave until he attracted the attention of the herd. Then the others approaching from another point were to pick off the fattest with their rifles.
Their campaign began auspiciously. Obed was soon lost to sight in the grass, although they knew that he was advancing toward the herd. Their own progress was sure, and the game showed no signs of alarm. Another hundred yards and they would be within rifle shot, when every antelope, as if by a preconcerted signal, threw up its head, stood still for a moment or two, and all of them fled like the wind toward the western horizon.
“Now, what in the name of all that’s cur’us made ’em do that?” exclaimed the Panther. “Obed’s too smart to have done any fool thing to alarm ’em, an’, besides, here he comes, lookin’ as mixed up over it as we are.”
“The leader of that herd was a wise old antelope,” said Ned; “I see what caused his alarm, and it’s about time for us, too, to get away as fast as we can.”
He pointed toward the north, and they beheld there eight or ten figures outlined against the gray horizon.
“I see,” said the Panther. “The herd got their wind and made off. They are horsemen, an’ they’re comin’ fast in this direction. What do you make ’em out to be, Ned?”
“I don’t think they are Texans. They don’t ride upright enough. Nor are they Mexicans, because I see neither saddles nor bridles. In my opinion the horsemen are riding bare back.”
“Which means they’re Indians shorely an’ Comanches likely,” said the Panther. “It’s a raidin’ party. Our leaders have been tryin’ to keep the Comanches quiet, while we fight the Mexicans, but it’s easy enough for the young bucks to gallop over this country, an’ hunt plunder an’ scalps here an’ there. Them warriors have seen us, an’ are ridin’ straight for us, thinkin’ it will be just fun to get our scalps, ’cause they’re on ponies an’ we’re on foot. Make for the motte an’ we’ll fight it out there, boys. We don’t want to run into the woods an’ let ’em find out where Camp Independence is, an’ bring down on us a big Comanche war band an’ maybe a Mexican army, too. I think we can teach these rascals somethin’ about fightin’. Are you fellows for the motte?”
“The motte!” they exclaimed all together.
There was a small, but dense clump of trees, about a hundred yards to their left, and they ran for it, at the utmost speed. The Comanches were not more than four hundred yards away, and they uttered a long, ferocious whoop when they saw the flight of the Texans. They were painted horribly, and they threw themselves about in wild attitudes as they urged their horses to a greater pace. Two or three fired, but the bullets fell short.
The next instant the six Texans were in the timber, and the Comanches, halting at a point out of range, began to ride up and down in front of the trees, making hideous gestures and shouting foul taunts at the six.
“I don’t know what they’re sayin’,” said Will Allen, “but it sounds bad. Panther, let me shoot. Please let me shoot!”
“You keep quiet, youngster,” said the Panther, laughing. “If you pull trigger, I’ll turn you over my knee and spank you. You can’t reach ’em, an’ so don’t waste a good bullet.”
“They annoy terribly.”
“Our time will come. Just you wait. They’re enjoyin’ themselves tremenjously, an’ when people are doin’ that they’re apt to be forgetful. Look, now, the nearest fellow that’s whoopin’ an’ cavortin’ so is comin’ closer than he knows.”
The six Texans now lay very low in the little clump of woods, hidden completely from the Comanches, who, nevertheless, knew just where they were. The warriors were doing fancy riding, looking under the bodies or necks of their horses, holding on with heel and toe, and now and then uttering the war whoop. Ned did not know whether their purpose was a taunting display or a desire to get near enough for shots. But he watched closely, and he heard the Panther beside him breathing deeply with satisfaction.
“It ain’t a good thing to show off,” he said, “when them that you’re showin’ off to are loaded for you. Mebbe they’ve miscalculated the power of our rifles and the shoreness of our aim, but in jest about two more minutes of their whoopin’ an’ cavortin’ they’ll be in range. They’re ridin’ in line, an’ I’ll fire at the first, you take the second, Ned, and Obed the third.”
He also assigned other possible targets in order to his other three comrades, and they waited patiently until the howling Comanches came a little nearer. One minute passed, then two minutes, and the Panther cried: “Fire.”
Six rifles flashed from the covert and four of the Comanches fell lifeless from their horses. Two others were wounded, and so great and terrific was this surprise that the rest turned and galloped at full speed toward the western horizon, the ponies of the fallen trailing after them. The Panther burst into a great roar of triumph.
“That’s about the quickest victory that was ever won,” he said, “an’ I guess it was Comanche vanity that made it come to us so easy.”
“Pride went before the fall of these Comanches from their ponies,” said Obed. “We’ll gather up their rifles or muskets that fell with them and take ’em to our camp. We’ll need ’em for recruits.”
“Will the other Comanches return?” asked Will Allen.
“Never,” replied the Panther confidently. “They won’t even come back to bury them that fell. It was a raidin’ band, ridin’ pretty far east, an’ they’ll reckon that they’d better stay on the western border. Mebbe this little victory will save a lot of people besides ourselves.”
All the fallen Comanches had Texan rifles, and they carried the four fine weapons back with them to Camp Independence. Deaf Smith agreed with the Panther that the repulse was likely to keep the Comanches out of that part of the country.
Now they organized another expedition in search of recruits and departed upon it almost immediately. Will went with his friend Ned. Two men remained to guard Camp Independence.
“It would be fine to take a big, trained band to Sam Houston when the time comes to strike,” said the Panther.
“Houston will strike,” said Smith confidently. “I’ve been throwed with Sam a lot, an’ he studies things to the bottom.”
“Thrice armed is he who strikes when the iron is hot, and strikes hard and often,” said Obed White.
They rode in a great curve to the north and west, intending to pass around Clay, which, beyond a doubt, was still held by a Mexican garrison. They expected to pick up roving Texans, and add them to their band at Camp Independence. All thought it more than likely that they would have a fight before they returned. Now as they advanced northward they saw signs that the Mexicans had passed. Thrice they came upon the ashes of burned cabins, and once they saw where cattle had been slaughtered in sheer wantonness, and left to be devoured by wild animals. About noon they came to another of the burned cabins, and among some bushes near it Ned saw a dark object. It was the body of a man, a Texan, thrust through with a lance.
Ned, when he saw, clinched his teeth, and felt the blood of anger rushing to his brain. Visions of the Alamo, the black flag and the cruel triumph of Santa Anna came back to him. The impression made upon him by the terrible events through which he had passed had not dimmed a particle. The passion for vengeance was as strong as ever, and he felt that the Texans must gather their slender forces and fight anew.
Smith and the Panther carefully examined the ground around the cabin, and then rode forward on a broad trail about a hundred yards. When they returned they announced that the destruction had been done by a large band, at least a hundred men.
“I think it likely that it’s Urrea and his cavalry,” said the Panther. “We know how active he is, an’ he’s sweepin’ ’roun’ through these parts, doin’ all the destruction he can.”
“Don’t you think it likely,” asked Ned, “that we can achieve more by following him than by doing anything else? He is seeking prey, of course, and we may arrive in time to save.”
“Then the hunter in his turn shall become the hunted,” said Obed White. “The thought appeals to me. The ruthless destroyer little suspects that his own time, too, may be at hand. That sounds a little fanciful, but it’s what ought to come to pass.”
“At any rate, we’ll see,” said the Panther, as they rode on the broad trail, which they judged to be about twelve hours old. Before night they saw further evidences of devastation. Every house in the Mexican path was destroyed and more animals had been slaughtered. But they did not see a human being. It was evident that the Texans were fleeing northward with their women and children.
“If we keep in the course that we are now takin’,” said Smith, “we’ll strike the Colorado River to-morrow mornin’.”
“And if there are any fugitives ahead of the Mexican cavalry they will strike it at the same time or earlier,” said Ned.
“You speak Gospel truth,” said Smith, “an’ it would be mighty hard for ’em to get away with a big river in front of ’em an’ the Mexicans behind ’em.”
“I was thinking of that,” said Ned. “It seems to me that we’re needed.”
“Never looked more like it,” said the Panther, who was listening. “We’ll try to pass around that gang tonight an’ see what’s ahead. What do you say, boys?”
“Of course,” they replied together.
They increased their speed, and they knew by the evidences of the trail that they were gaining fast. Eight can go more rapidly than a hundred.
“It will be night long before we can come within eyeshot of them,” said the Panther, “but so much the better. There’s lots of buffalo chips about, and they’re likely to build a big fire, which will be a guide to us.”
The darkness soon showed in the east, and then swept down quickly. Had it not been such a broad trail they could have followed it no longer, but the Texans, strong in experience, kept on steadily in the dusk. Ned, looking straight ahead, suddenly saw a spot of light, which quickly rose and expanded.
“They have stopped for camp,” he said, “and there is the fire that you predicted, Panther.”
“Correct,” said the Panther. “Suppose we shift to the right an’ pass by, takin’ a good look at ’em as we go.”
“It suits us,” said Smith, speaking for them all.
They turned their course and rode forward at a more moderate pace, slowing to a walk, when they came within a quarter of a mile of the fire. They did not anticipate very great vigilance on the part of the Mexicans, but they could not afford to be seen by any possible scout or sentinel of theirs.
The Mexican camp seemed to be pitched in one of the mottes or clumps of timber which were frequent on the prairie, and the eight rode toward it at the slowest of walks. Then, sitting on their horses, well beyond the circle of light, they could see clearly within. They beheld many men and horses, and at last Ned saw a figure pass between him and the fire, which he knew to be that of Urrea. Again the blood leaped to his head, and the great pulses throbbed. Here was his enemy and here was another reason why they should defeat the cruel plans of the invaders.
“Their horses look good, better than most Mexican horses,” whispered the Panther, “an’ the men are all well armed with rifles, muskets and lances. It would take a lot of rippin’ an’ t’arin’ an chawin’ to wipe ’em out.”
“Those facts indicate that they are riding on a certain errand, and not at random,” said Ned.
“’Pears that way. How I wish we had enough men to stay here an’ make ’em fight. Only twenty more an’ we’d give young Don Francisco Urrea the warmest evening he ever had.”
“But we haven’t got ’em, so I guess we’d better be ridin’ on, an’ see what they are chasin’,” said Smith.
“Right. You’re gen’aly right, Deaf. I’ve noticed that,” said the Panther.
They curved about the camp fire, and they were fully a mile ahead of it when its last gleam disappeared behind the swells. But Ned did not believe that the Mexicans would remain there all through the night. If Urrea was pursuing a definite object he would probably start at two or three in the morning. So it behooved the eight to use speed as they rode.
But they stopped in a half hour and began to search back and forth. There was a fair moon now, and it was not hard to examine the green surface of the prairie. It was Karnes who spoke first.
“This is what Urrea is followin’,” he said. “The wheels of ten wagons have passed here, an’ there were mebbe a dozen people ridin’ horses.”
The others agreed with his estimate.
“Texan refugees,” said Smith. “I expect them wagons was crowded with women an’ children, an’ there couldn’t have been many men. Urrea would make short work of them all when he came up.”
“We’re in between,” said the Panther, “an’ mebbe we can stay in between. Mebbe God started us on purpose to get here at this time.”
He spoke in a spirit full of reverence, and the others, too, felt as if a superhuman hand had guided them. The belief strengthened them greatly for the daring task they were about to assume.
“Do you think the Texans know that Urrea is on their track?” asked Will Allen, who was greatly excited.
“No,” replied the Panther. “Urrea, most likely, has been keepin’ his distance, an’ expects to gallop down on ’em when they’re penned up ag’inst the Colorado. Then he could slaughter ’em almost as he pleased.”
“But we may put a stick between his spokes,” said Obed White, in sanguine tones. “Never count your chickens until you’ve found your nest, and Urrea doesn’t know what he’s going to find.”
The trail of the fleeing Texans was as plain as that of Urrea had been. The wheels of the wagons, evidently loaded heavily, had cut great ruts over the prairie, and the experienced eyes of the scouts and hunters followed it as easily as the ordinary hunter would follow the shining bars of a railway.
All through the night they rode. The moon faded, went out, and then came back again in greater splendor than ever. The clouds drew curtains before the host of stars that danced in the sky, then floated away, and the stars came out more brilliantly than before. Little puffs of wind sped across the prairie, and rustled the leaves in the clumps of timber. But the eight rode steadily on, the ruts made by the wagon wheels always stretching before them.
Ned, near dawn, saw a light far ahead on the prairie. It was faint, but he knew it was no star showing above the crest of a hill. It was the light that came from a camp, and he was sure that the camp belonged to the Texans whom they were following. His comrades agreed with him.
“I guess they’re asleep ’cept for a sentinel or two whom they may have out,” said the Panther, “but we’ll soon bring ’em news that’ll make ’em as wide awake as anybody can be.”
They drew their horses to a walk, and, as they approached, they saw that their surmise had been right. Ten wagons stood on a little swell, and some horses grazed at the ends of lariats. Two sentinels stood near, rifle on shoulder.
The sentinels took their rifles out of the hollows of their arms, and walked forward a little, when they saw the men approaching. The Panther raised his hand as a sign of amity, and, as they rode closer, cried out in a tremendous voice:
“Friends we are, Texans like yourselves.”
They were in the camp the next moment, and men, women and children, some not more than half dressed, were crowding around them, the children gazing with interest and awe at the huge, strange figure of the Panther in his deerskin dress of brilliant dye.
“Who is the leader here?” asked the Panther.
“I am, poor and unworthy though I may be,” replied a tall, thin man, emerging from the group. His was a figure even more extraordinary than that of the Panther. He was of great height and very thin, A broad black slouch hat covered his head, but his most remarkable garment was a black frock coat, buttoned closely and falling below his knees. His trousers also were black, but, like the coat, they were well sprinkled with Texas dust. The man’s face was long, smooth-shaven and tanned, and, grotesque though the figure appeared, the face was one of uncommon power. The first impulse of Ned and Will to laugh was changed to one of respect.
“I am the Reverend Stephen Larkin,” he said. “I have preached at times to the scattered Texas flocks, and I have taught school at times also, though I must confess that the mind of Texan youth runs more to rifle and horse than to history and the higher mathematics. Sam Houston is to them a greater general than Napoleon, and they think more of Crockett and Bowie, just fallen in the Alamo, than of mighty Hannibal and Cæsar.”
“Can you blame ’em?” asked the Panther.
“No, I cannot,” admitted Larkin, “and at such a time as this perhaps it is necessary. And, sir, I do not wish to be too inquisitive, but may I ask who you are?”
“My name is Martin Palmer. Men often call me the Ring Tailed Panther, or the Panther for short.”
A grim light flickered for a moment in the eyes of Larkin.
“I have heard of you—often,” he said. “I am afraid that you are a sanguinary man, one who has lived a life of violence and strange deeds.”
The Panther leaned forward a little on his horse, and stared with his black eyes into the blue eyes of the minister, which stared back, as hard as steel, and never flinching.
“I have killed,” said the Panther slowly, “an’ I have killed more than once, but never except in self-defense or in defense of those who was too weak to defend themselves. These are not peaceful times, an’ this has never been a peaceful country, Stephen Larkin. It’s said that Heaven helps them that helps themselves, an’ in Texas now when you put up a prayer you want to have a gun alongside it.”
A faint smile came into the stern blue eyes of the minister and teacher. He stretched forth a long, big-boned and powerful arm, and his hand and that of the Panther met in a grasp which would have twisted the fingers of ordinary men.
“I meant nothing against you,” said Larkin. “The Lord raised up David to fight the battles of His people, and since Satan, whose other name is Santa Anna, is abroad in the land, we must even meet him with his own weapons. My own rifle is in the wagon there. Upon occasion, I can shoot for my people—and I fear me much that the occasion is nigh.”
“Here are more men who shoot straight an’ true,” said the Panther. “This is Deaf Smith, and this is Henry Karnes. There is nobody in all Texas who has not heard of them. And these two boys are Ned Fulton and Will Allen. Ned has been through more dangers than I can tell you about now.”
He called the names of the others to the attention of Larkin, and then he added briefly, but very much to the point:
“We’ve come, Mr. Larkin, to warn you and your people. Francisco Urrea, one of the best of the Mexican cavalry leaders, is following you with a hundred men or more. He is fifteen miles or less behind, but, as we take it, he expects to catch you when you reach the Colorado. You know what to expect from the Mexicans, and most of all from this Urrea.”
The face of the Reverend Stephen Larkin whitened a little, but his voice was steady when he replied:
“We are to expect no mercy, but we thank you for bringing us this warning. If we are to be put to the edge of the sword so be it.”
The Panther laughed softly through his huge black beard.
“We do more than bring warnin’, sir,” he said. “We expect to fight by your side. There are eight of us, all good shots, an’, although the odds are ag’inst us, your party an’ ours may hold the Colorado ag’inst Urrea an’ all his band.”
“Thrice armed are those whose rifles shoot fast and true,” said Obed White.
The steel-blue eyes of Larkin gleamed.
“It is noble of you, gentlemen,” he said, “to help the weak, and we may even succeed. There are some stout arms here in our own party.”
The announcement of the pursuit by Urrea had caused a hush of consternation among the women and children, but the strong words of the Panther were a tonic, and they began to speak hopefully. The party, including Larkin, had sixteen men and boys old enough to fight, the women and children—children were numerous in Texas—numbering thirty-six. They carried the usual frontier rifles and had plenty of ammunition. Six of the wagons were drawn by oxen and the others by horses and mules. The gait of the oxen would be slow, and Urrea could make three miles to their one. Four of the women, natives of the frontier, big-boned and powerful, could drive, and drive well, leaving more men free for battle if the pinch came.
“How far ahead is the Colorado?” asked the Panther.
“Not more than eight miles,” replied Larkin. “We expected to cross it to-day, and we had begun to feel safe. Not many Mexicans are on the other side, so we hear, and, moreover, we would meet our brethren there.”
“The nearer we get to it the better off we will be,” said Smith.
“Them’s true words,” said the Panther. “S’pose we start right now, Mr. Larkin.”
Larkin issued his orders quick, but calm and to the point. Ned saw that he was a born leader of men. There had been many such frontier preachers, men who fought as well as preached for what they thought right, and it was obvious that Larkin was a splendid representative of the type.
The wagons began to creak in a few minutes, as they rolled slowly over the prairie. Most of the women and children were under the canvas covers, but several half-grown boys ran beside the wheels. In the rear rode the men, all armed thoroughly with rifles and pistols. The Panther’s eyes glistened as he looked over the small but formidable array.
“It will take a lot of rippin’ and’ t’arin’ an’ chawin’ to wipe us out,” he said.
“And the stars in their courses may fight for us,” said Obed White.
The Reverend Stephen Larkin nodded approvingly at the semi-biblical quotation, and his own steel-blue eyes glowed with the light of battle.
“Nor will we neglect to fight for ourselves if need be,” he said.
The Panther smiled to himself and nodded approvingly. He had recognized a kindred spirit in the tall and stern minister. The wagons moved slowly on. The drivers tried to encourage the oxen to a greater pace, but their increase in speed was only slight. Ned and Will dropped to the rear, and both cast many looks over their shoulders, expecting at any moment to see the sunlight glittering on the Mexican lances.
As yet they saw nothing but the brilliant rays falling on the fresh green of the Texan grass, and far to their right the slender and indistinct figures of animals that Ned took to be antelope. Will, impulsive and always hopeful, thought that Urrea might have lost or given up the chase, but Ned knew better. It was not possible to miss the trail of the wagons, and Urrea would not abandon the prey which he was sure lay under his hand. His scouts might warn him that the fugitives had received a reinforcement, but they could tell him also that it was not large enough to be of importance. They would not know that the redoubtable Panther, Deaf Smith and Karnes were among those who guarded the wagons.
“It’s only about five miles now to the river,” said Larkin, “and may be they’ve abandoned the pursuit, after all.”
“It’s not possible,” said Obed White. “Urrea will surely come, but we’ll not be discouraged. Faint heart never won hot battle.”
“Ah, there he is now!” exclaimed Ned, pointing to a tiny cloud of dust far behind them.
The others could not see it, but in a few minutes it rose on the plain.
“Sister Anna sees it, but it is not made by our brothers,” said Obed White.
The cloud of dust broadened and approached fast.
“Tell our people in the wagons not to be alarmed,” said Larkin to one of his men. “The enemy draws nigh, but we have trusty friends, and we shall even smite hard.”
“Do you know anything about the ford?” asked the Panther.
“It is deep,” replied Larkin. “The water will rise to the bodies of our wagons.”
“Any timber along the banks?”
“Some, but not much.”
“Even if only a little it will help. Will you tell your people, Mr. Larkin, when they get to the river to drive right in. Not to linger a minute, but go straight for the other side. The main attack will be made then, and it will be for us who ride behind the wagons to stop it.”
Larkin gave his orders, and, returning to the fighting group, announced that they would be obeyed.
“An old man named Dave Simpkins is driving the first wagon,” he said. “He is the bellwether, so to speak, and though far gone in years he has a fiery soul which fainteth not in the presence of danger. He will lead the way.”
“Good,” said the Panther. “Urrea and his men see us, but they are yet too far away to tell anything of our strength. I take it they won’t come so fast now, knowin’ that they can pen us with our back ag’inst the river.”
“They are slowing down,” said Ned. “I see a figure in the front which I think is that of Urrea.”
“How I wish I could get a shot at him!” growled Deaf Smith.
About a third of the Mexicans carried lances, and when the brilliant sunlight struck the long blades it seemed to shoot out like a flame. Some of the women and children in the wagons saw this ominous sign, and an alarm spread among them, but it was quickly checked by Stephen Larkin.
“Don’t forget,” said he, “that the greatest riflemen in Texas stand between you and danger, and perhaps some who are not so good may deal a few body blows in a just cause.”
He had a powerful influence. Though different in quality it was in effect something like that of the Panther. He radiated a strength and courage which seemed to flow into the veins of others, and everybody soon became quiet. Every one of the drivers, the women included, carried a rifle on the seat, except old Dave Simpkins, and he had two. There was also a rifle for every long, strong Texan boy of twelve or up, and they would make a formidable reserve force.
Thus the procession moved onward for a full half hour, old Dave Simpkins still in the lead, but wishing that he was back with the mounted riflemen. His fierce old soul blazed for a first chance to get at the enemy. The horsemen in the rear rode in a close group, taking many looks backward.
“Urrea has a glass, and is now watching us through it,” said Ned.
“I hope he sees me an’ knows me,” said the Panther, turning his head full around, and presenting his face squarely to their pursuers. “I want him to know that I’m here, an’ that Deaf is here, an’ that Hank is here, an’ that you’re here, an’ the rest of us are here.”
“It will make him expect a haul that’s all the richer,” said Ned.
“Let him think it,” said the Panther grimly.
A shout came from the first wagon. It was from old Dave Simpkins, and he was announcing that the Colorado was in sight. Urrea must have seen it, too, as the speed of the Mexicans increased rapidly. They also uttered shouts and began to spread out in a much longer and thinner line with lances on either flank. Ned’s heart began to throb. Will turned pale, but his hand on bridle rein did not falter. Both quietly awaited the commands of the Panther, who, by common consent, was the leader.
“We’ll spread out a little ourselves; we don’t want to make too solid a target,” he said. “They’re goin’ to attack in a few minutes.”
“And may God defend the right!” said the Reverend Stephen Larkin.
At another time he might have looked a little ridiculous. The broad brim of his black hat, powdered now with dust, stood out straight. The tails of his long black coat fell low on the side of his horse, but there was nothing to laugh at in his face. Two rows of strong teeth were set firmly together, and the steely blue eyes shone with a terrible light. It seemed to Ned that one of Cromwell’s Roundheads, reincarnated, was riding anew to battle.
“They’re tryin’ to flank us,” said the Panther. “Deaf, you an’ Hank go to the right; Ned, you an’ Will come with me on the left, an’ I’d like to have Mr. Larkin, too.”
They followed his commands, or rather requests, the little party dividing in equal numbers, and wheeling to right and left to face their antagonists. Meanwhile the wagons, fierce old Dave Simpkins still in the lead, were racing toward the river, the oxen having been induced at last by the whip to run. Ned now clearly saw the broad stream shining before them, and he heard the shouts of the Mexicans on either flank charging down upon them.
“Up with your rifles, boys,” cried the Panther, “an’ don’t shoot until you see a Mexican at the end of your sights!”
Ned’s heart was still throbbing, but he was growing used to excitement and danger. He held the reins of his horse with one hand and his rifle with the other. Will Allen at his side, knee to knee, did the same. The Mexicans came on fast, the hoofs of their horses beating in rhythmic unison on the prairie. Ned saw that he and his friends had not overestimated their numbers. They were at least ten to one. It would be necessary to shoot straight and fast. Suddenly the red wave that was the Alamo and Goliad rose before his eyes. Then it rolled away, and he saw Urrea, whom he considered the most wicked of all men next to Santa Anna.
Ned raised his rifle, and took aim at the Mexican leader. There was no emotion of pity in his heart, no lack of the wish to kill one whose hands were dipped so deep in treachery and cruelty. The Panther shouted: “Fire!” and he pulled the trigger. His protecting angel, or rather demon, was watching over Urrea. Through some chance he swerved aside, and the bullet struck the man behind him. But the Texans both on the right and left flank had aimed well. A half dozen saddles were emptied, and the two Mexican columns reeled back. While they were still hesitating, the Texans reloaded and fired again.
The second volley was not so deadly as the first, but it was deadly enough. Four or five of the Mexicans fell, and both columns galloped out of range. They, in turn, had been firing, but their weapons were inferior to those of the Texans, and their bullets fell short.
A shout of triumph came from the wagons. The women had lifted the canvas and were looking back at the battle. Now they rejoiced at the triumph of the men who were defending them, but old Dave Simpkins continued to drive his team fiercely for the Colorado, and those behind followed it at the same pace.
Will Allen shouted in his excitement and triumph, but Ned knew that the battle was far from over. Urrea would gather his forces anew, and come on for a fresh attack. The moment when they entered the water was the one most to be dreaded.
“Reload as fast as you can!” cried the Panther, drawing back together the two halves of his force. “We’ve burned their faces, but they will come ag’in!”
“But we’ve smitten them hip and thigh at least once,” said the Reverend Stephen Larkin, the light of battle shining more brightly than ever in his eyes. “I aimed long, and I trust that I shot well.”
“I’m shore of it, Mr. Larkin,” said the Panther. “I saw that your arm was as steady as a mountain.”
Ned noticed that a strong friendship had been formed already between these two men, so unlike in some respects, and yet so alike in others. He and Will kept close together just behind the Panther and Larkin. He ceased to watch the Mexicans, and turned his eyes toward the wagons. The first was just on the brink of the stream. Then, under the urging of old Dave Simpkins, it gave a lurch and went into the water. One by one the others followed.
But the Colorado was flowing in a wide channel, and more swiftly than usual. The wagons made slow progress, and the obstructed water foamed and boiled around them in a dangerous manner. The Mexicans, seeing the difficulty, gave a yell of triumph and came on again in a solid body.
“Now, boys!” exclaimed the Panther, “we’ve got to shoot not only for our own lives, but for the lives of them women an’ children in the wagons!”
There was a little timber along the bank of the river. Some of the Texans leaped from their horses and took shelter behind the trees, others remained in the saddle, but all of them fired as fast as they could pull the trigger and reload. The Mexicans came on now in the wavering style adopted by Indians when they make a charge. They made the horses shift from side to side, and they sheltered themselves as well as they could behind the necks of the animals and the tall peaks of their saddles. They also opened fire with muskets and rifles.
One of the Texans was wounded dangerously, another slightly and two horses were killed. Mexican numbers were telling, but the devoted band that held the ford fought with coolness and desperation. Ned’s own horse was killed, but he sprang clear as it fell. Will’s, also, went down presently, but he, too, was alert, and alighted safely on his feet. They secured their ammunition and then fought from the shelter of the trees.
A band of the Mexican cavalry galloped almost upon them. Ned saw a long lance poised and ready for a thrust at Will, who was taking aim at a horseman in another direction. He snatched a pistol from his belt and fired. The lancer reeled from the saddle, breaking his own weapon in two as he fell, and his horse galloped away. Ned reloaded both rifle and pistol. All around him was the crackle of gun fire, the tread of horses’ hoofs, and the sudden cries of wounded men. Puffs of smoke arose, now and then hiding the combatants from one another. The Texans with the advantage of the trees and their own indomitable courage held the ground against many to one, striving to keep back the Mexican advance, until all the wagons were on the other side of the Colorado. Ned caught a glimpse of the line of canvas covers toiling through the stream, old Dave Simpkins still in the lead. Then he was compelled to look away, because two mounted Mexicans were charging down upon him.
The boy’s rifle and pistol had both been fired again, but a lance dropped by some fallen Mexican lay at his feet. He snatched it up, and, unused to it, swung with it as one would strike with a club. The first Mexican fell with a broken head, and then Ned, remembering himself, thrust with the point of the lance at the second. He shut his eyes, but he felt it strike something, and he heard a terrible cry. Then he was glad that a cloud of smoke drifted between, hiding that which had happened from his eyes when he opened them. He threw down the lance in disgust—he felt that it was no weapon for a Christian human being—and, picking up his rifle again, began to reload.
“Smite the Philistines! Smite them hip and thigh! We will hew them down even as David leveled Goliath in the dust!” shouted the minister, his stern Cromwellian soul burning with a cold white flame of battle. He had been wounded slightly in the shoulder, and the flowing blood made a long red stripe, like a decoration, down his coat.
“Give it to ’em, Philistines or Mexicans; it makes no difference!” shouted the Panther. “Rip an’ t’ar an’ chaw, boys! That for the Alamo! That for Goliad! That for your cruelty! That for your treachery! That for good count! At ’em, boys! Drive ’em back!”
But Deaf Smith and Henry Karnes fought in silence, leaping from tree to tree, reloading and firing with deadly aim.
Helped by the trees, the bushes and the sloping bank, they still held Urrea back, although two of the men belonging to the wagon train had been slain and several others had been wounded. Now Dave Simpkins reached the far bank of the Colorado, drove fifteen or twenty yards farther, dropped the lines of his team and leaped out, rifle in hand. The other wagons, one by one, followed.
“Drive on out of range!” cried old Dave. “I’m goin’ back to help them that have helped us so much.”
“An’ me! An’ me!” cried four or five others.
But the Panther had seen that all the wagons were now across, and, above the crash of the conflict, he shouted to old Dave and those with him:
“Stay on the bank there, an’ cover our comin’!”
Old Dave heard, understood and paused. The Panther shouted to his comrades to fire one last volley, and take to the river. Ned looked around for Will. He was just at his elbow.
“The most dangerous part has come,” he said. “Jump as far out in the water as you can, run through it as fast as you can, but keep your rifle dry so you can fire back!”
All the Texans, save the two who had fallen, poured in a volley that drove the Mexicans back twenty paces. Then they turned, ran into the stream and rode or waded swiftly toward the farther shore. There was so much smoke and turmoil that the Mexicans did not see the rush until the Texans were halfway across. Then they came on with many shouts of rage, intending to shoot the fugitives down in the middle of the stream.
But they had not reckoned with old Dave and his allies, three or four men, a dozen half-grown boys, and, four or five stalwart women, women and boys, too, armed with the deadly Texan rifles. Firing over the heads of their champions in the river, they drove back the Mexican force which now appeared at the edge of the stream. Not a horseman of Urrea’s dared to enter the water. Instead, they fired their rifles and muskets from a distance.
Ned and Will heard bullets pattering near them, and little jets of water spurted up. Once the foam was dashed into Ned’s eyes, but he brushed it away, and saw their friends on the northern bank firing over their heads. He was tempted to stop, reload his rifle and take a shot, but the Panther and Larkin were urging everybody on, and he kept his face toward the northern bank. He felt a slight sting in his shoulder, and he knew that he was hit, but he knew also that it did not amount to much. The next moment he forgot it, and then he felt the water shallowing beneath his feet.
At the edge of the stream, and where the water was not more than ankle deep, the Panther and several others turned and fired. Then they rushed in a body up the bank, and, joined by Simpkins, and the others ran for the wagons. The Mexicans sent a scattering fire across the stream, but it did not reach anybody, while the Texans, from the shelter of the wagons, sent back a return that did reach and sting. They could see Urrea and others spurring their horses furiously toward the water, but the Panther merely smiled.
“They won’t try to cross,” he said. “They ain’t thinkin’ of such a thing. Urrea is a brave man, I’ll admit that, but he knows better than to ride into the Colorado in face of our fire. They’ll make a fuss there for a while, an’ then go away.”
“We left two of our comrades behind,” said Larkin sorrowfully.
“They’re dead, Mr. Larkin,” said the Panther, “an’ the Mexicans can’t do them no harm. We are lucky to get off with that few down. Many another man is goin’ to give up his life before this business is over.”
“I suppose you are right; in fact, I know you are,” said Larkin sorrowfully. “Now, I think we’d better turn our attention to the wounded, who must number half of our total fighting force. Do you consider it likely, Mr. Palmer, that the Mexicans will cross the river elsewhere and charge upon us?”
“There ain’t one chance in a thousand that they will do so,” replied the Panther. “They’ve had enough for one day. They must have suffered a big loss. Besides, there are other Texans this side of the Colorado, and they know that we may be reinforced. S’pose we drive ’till we strike a strong position, halt there an’ do whatever we want to do.”
Old Dave Simpkins resumed his position as the driver of the leading wagon, putting his rifle by his side on the seat. But there was a satisfied smile on his face when lie cracked his whip over his horses.
The mounted men had lost nearly all of their horses, which had suffered more than the riders from the Mexican fire. Both Ned and Will were on foot now. Places in the wagons were offered them, but they declined in favor of those more severely injured, as Ned found that his wound was a mere scratch.
The Reverend Stephen Larkin was a physician, as well as minister and teacher, too—on the border a man had to be many things to live—and he skillfully bound up all the wounds, announcing that none was mortal. He, like the Panther, Smith and Karnes, had escaped without injury.
“About two miles further on,” said Smith, who knew the country well, “we’ll strike a hill covered with timber. A spring runs out of the side of this hill, and we can make there a camp that we can hold ag’inst any number of Mexicans.”
All that Smith said came true. It was a splendid place for a camp, easily defensible, and at the crest they drew the wagons up in a small ring. Several of the men scouted back toward the river, and, seeing no signs of Mexican pursuit, they went into camp and dismissed anxiety for the present.
As the night came on cool they built fires and posted guards. The prairie for at least a mile in every direction was flat and bare, and no enemy could approach without being seen by the sharp-eyed Texans. Ned and Will relaxed completely. They ate heartily of the good food that was given to them, and then sat for a while watching the dancing fires, and listening to the Panther as he told the Reverend Stephen Larkin why they had come and also of Camp Independence.
Larkin stroked his smooth chin and deliberated.
“I have neither wife nor children,” he said, “and I feel that as soon as we have led these people into safety I ought to go out with you to that crater and help you in your great service to Texas.”
“We’d welcome you an’ be proud of you,” the Panther said; “wouldn’t we, Deaf?”
“If we didn’t we’d be mighty big fools,” replied Smith.
“Then I’ll go,” said the fighting minister. “As soon as these people are safe in the north I will return with you to that rallying point which you call Camp Independence.”
Nothing more was said, but the hands of the two strong men met in a significant clasp. The Panther and his friends meant to stay with the retreating party two or three days longer, until they were absolutely beyond the reach of the Mexicans.
Ned and Will volunteered for the watch that night, but they were told to find a good place in the wagons and go to sleep. Ned had forgotten that stinging sensation he felt in the course of the battle, but, when he undressed, a bullet fell from his clothing, and there was a big bruise on his left shoulder. He had evidently been struck by a spent ball, and he was thankful for his luck.
There was an abundance of room in the wagons, and plenty of bedding, too, and he and Will slept soundly all through the night. It was announced the next morning that no Mexicans had crossed the Colorado, and the little party of Texans, grieving for the two men lost, but triumphant in its victory, moved on. They were joined the next day by two more fugitive groups which also had extra horses and the Panther and Smith decided that it was not necessary for their own party to remain. Eight of the Texan men, including Larkin, decided to go back with the Panther and Smith to Camp Independence. They were all armed and mounted well, and would make a formidable addition to the party.
But the Panther, Smith and Larkin agreed that Houston ought to know of this band that was forming in the south to help him. The fate of Texas hung so evenly in the scale that a few men might decide it. A messenger should be sent to the Texan commander-in-chief, and Ned, who knew the country well, begged that he be chosen. He seemed the fitting one for the task, because of his acquaintance with Houston and the other Texan leaders, and he was selected for the coveted errand.
Ned had secured a strong and fresh mount, and he was provided with rifle, pistol and plenty of ammunition. He bade his comrades farewell, and eager and full of hope he rode away.